Kind of like Yakov Smirnoff if Yakov Smirnoff were actually funny

Certainly some of you have heard that Kazakhstan is none too pleased with Sacha Cohen, aka Ali G ... or, more specifically, the Ali G. character Borat, a "reporter" from Kazakhstan who plays up pretty much every negative stereotype of that country's people to extremely humorous effect. Borat particularly hates women and the Jews. Some sample dialogue from the show:

"In Kazakhstan we have many hobbies: disco dancing, archery, rape and table tennis."

"There is a land of opportunities in U.S. of A. For man, construction work, taxi driving and accountancy. For woman, as prostitute."

"I am very strong physique and I can hold very large woman down for 3 hours...I am strong, I can throw rock at gypsy from 15 metres. 10 metre if I am chained up."

In one episode, Borat managed to get on stage at an American country and western bar, where he sang his "folk hit" Throw the Jew Down the Well. Amazingly (and frighteningly) he was able to get the redneck crowd to sing along to the ridiculous anti-Semitic lyrics. Here's a video of that one (probably not safe for work, unless you have headphones, work in the Aryan Nation headquarters or live in 1930s Germany).

Anywhoo, the most recent fracas erupted when Borat played host at the MTV Europe Video Awards, prompting Kazakhstan to take notice, and offense, at his portrayal of their country. You can read some of his comments from the show here.

My favorite of the bunch: "Hello it is me, Freddy Mercury. I joking, he die of AIDS. It me Borat, I not a la la loo lee. The only sex disease I ever have is gonoreah. 15 times! The ladies like Borat! Now please welcome Coldplay."

So, now Kazakhstan is suing Sacha Cohen and the Ali G Show.

Borat recently responded to the suit on his official web site -- completely in character, of course -- saying, among other things, that he has "no connection with Mr. Cohen and fully support my government's decision to sue this Jew."

The Borat web site contains other gems as well -- clips from the show, and a photo page with captions like "i in america making relaxation!!!"

And Robert Downey Starring as Robert Downey

So over the weekend, the Contrarian and his spouse endured the new film Kiss, Kiss, Bang Bang, which was a mixed bag, to put it mildly.

The film was narrated by Robert Downey, Jr.'s character, a petty New York thief who is in Los Angeles to film a screen test and, a la the novels of Raymond Chandler, gets immediately hooked up in a web of deceit, and is forced to help out a damsel in distress. He teams up with a gay detective played by Val Kilmer to solve the case.

Pluses: it was different. It tried to be different. It had actual performances by actual actors. Val Kilmer did not seem as if he was insane.

Minuses: There was a narrator, at least in the first 10 and last 2 minutes of the movie. But then it disappeared.

It got me to thinking that we Barrelhousers need a film manifesto. The dos and don'ts, the yeas and nays, if you will. So here goes some Nos.

No more dancing Christopher Walken. We git it.

No more biopics of dead singer-songrwriters. I'm still waiting for the Harry Chapin film.

No more Batmans. In fact, no more comic book novels.

No more films based on 1970s television series.

In Praise of Difficult Novels

We got to talking over dinner last night. And by we, I need to set the stage here and let you know up front that I was likely the LEAST QUALIFIED PERSON EVER to be participating in this conversation...but here I was, seated amongst Robert Olen Butler, Rick Moody and Mark Winegardner at dinner (yes, Iowans, we get real writers here too). And we got to discussing the American book critic's reticence to read and comment favorably on longer books.

One of the shockers of the evening was Mr. Moody's admission that he had been asked to review Thomas Pynchon's Mason and Dixon by one of the big magazines precisely because no other reviewer would touch it, given its 1000-page length.

In order to achieve maximum brevity and pith, I'll put it out this way: even though its Tuesday, I'm talking about books, bitches. So tell me--the hardest book you've ever read, and ideally, what you learned from it. I'll start with two...Women and Men by Joseph McElroy, and The Man Without Qualities by Robert Musil. I felt I had to read them both, though I'd like the 3 months I spent with Musil (reading about 100 pages a day--it's a 2 volume door stop, and no, I didn't finish) back.

No votes for Infinite Jest are allowed, because I know you did not read all of the ancillary material, or all of the footnotes.

Sir Paul

I realize Mondays are for Movies, not Music (despite the alliterative possibilities of both), but I didn't really feel like waiting until Thursday to mention that I saw Paul McCartney play live last night in Dallas.

The experience was, as you might expect, awesome. Even more awesome when you consider that McCartney is 63 but still hops around the stage like a man half his age (when I'm 63, I imagine I'll be going to bed each night well before 10:45, which is when Sir Paul was singing the final line of "The End" before turning up the house lights and signing records for some people in the front few rows).

The weird thing about the show is this: Beforehand, I could pretty well imagine what was going to happen. McCartney would, at some point, sit down at the piano for "Hey Jude" (and would exhort the crowd to sing along). He'd play "Live and Let Die" surrounded by some sort of pyrotechnics. The rest of the band would leave the stage for a while so he could do some acoustic numbers like "Blackbird" and "I Will." And, toward the close of the show, he'd play "Let it Be."

But even though I could see all those things coming, they were still completely fantastic when they happened.

I figure I've seen (via television) approximately 15 live versions of "Hey Jude." I've heard that song on the radio about four hundred times. And yet when McCartney broke into the first few notes, I was cheering just like everybody else, and when he stood up from the piano bench and waved for the crowd to join in on the chorus, I sang along, just like everyone else, and had goose bumps, just like everyone else.

And, toward the end of the show, when the crew wheeled out a smaller piano painted up in psychedelic colors and topped with a single candle, I knew McCartney was about to play "Let it Be." But when he actually DID play it, it was one of the coolest concert experiences I've ever been a part of. Holy shit, I was thinking. I'm hearing "Let it Be" performed live by Paul Fucking McCartney, and I'm close enough to him that I could bean him with a rock. It's hard to overstate the psychic effect of being that close to one of the most important rock musicians ever.

Perhaps the one surprising moment of the show -- and one of the best, in my book -- was when McCartney and the rest of the band ripped into "Helter Skelter." This wasn't old-man rock, not some toned-down version for the aging baby boomers in the crowd. It was fucking loud, and fast, and maybe even more frenetic than the original. Maybe it's because, as I understand it, McCartney hadn't played this song live before this tour, so it's somehow fresher and more new for him. Oddly, the crowd was pretty sedate (especially considering this was the same crowd that had greeted "Band on the Run" as if it was pinnacle of rock awesomeness). Maybe it's just because most of the crowd was kinda old. Or maybe people still associate that song with Charles Manson. Who knows? But McCartney and his band kicked the crap out of the song in a way that deserved more riotous crowd action.

Anyway, it was a great show. If he's coming to your town, and you've got a hunk of money to blow (my ticket, incidentally, was a surprise from my parents, a sort of early Christmas gift) I would definitely recommend the experience. You'll get to hear lots of Beatles tunes, and you won't even have to suffer through "Say Say Say."

We Must Not Confuse Dissent With Disloyalty

i've noticed barrelhouse has mondays listed for movies and i saw "good night, and good luck" last night i thought i'd throw out my assessment of the film as my first contribution to the blog....

Good Night, And Good Luck
Directed by George Clooney
Not that i think it's going to be entered into the canon of great american films, but i'd have to say that i'm impressed with George Clooney's ability as a director to craft a film and show that he has vision and heart, he's not just doing it for the novelty or for another feather in his cap. (anyone in the audience see Confessions of a Danergous Mind? ... very few hands i suppose.... go rent it, it's not disappointing....)

The film centers around Edward R. Murrow and CBS news' attack on Sen McCarthy's crusade against the communist threat in the US. It deals with the subject in a very contained way... narrowing the film's POV to those working in Murrow's newsroom and keeping a national experience to an intimate setting. letting anything beyond the cast be told through actual archival footage of interviews, broadcasts and courtroom footage.
if you feel you dont know enough about this time period (as i have very little knowledge of it, myself, being of the under thirty demographic), or if you happen to be of the mindset that a culture of fear in support of 'freedom' is inappropriate for americans, or that speaking out against something doesnt mean you are a pinko commie (or a freedom hater).... then it's a good film to see. cause it reminds you that sometimes media can be used for honesty, rather than propoganda, and it can make a difference. or if youre just really into good black and white photography... that's a good reason to see it too. don't see it if youre trying to quit smoking.... there's so many cigarettes smoked in this film that you will have a nic fit within the first 20 minutes. and that's if you never smoked before in your life.

there are, however a serious lack of boobs, batthroom humor or roundhouse kicks... as i was silently hoping that by the end we'd see a revisionist history where murrow burst into a senate hearing, outfitted like rambo, cigarette in mouth (of course), guns blazing and take mccarthy down, impaling him on an american flag pole with a witty quip "good night, and good luck, in HELL senator."

Chuck Norris: More than meets the eye.

As you know, we at the Barrelhouse posses an unholy love for all that is Swayze related. However, this sometimes eclipses our infatuation with Mr. Fists of Fire, Chuck Norris.

To make up for this over site, we offer you a list of thirty Chuck Norris facts.

Read’em, or he’ll roundhouse kick you in the face.

Press Release of the Week: It's a lonely, lonely, lonely world

According to a recent survey, roughly 36% of single American adults said they feel "additional pressure to be in a relationship" around the holidays, 58% didn't want to attend office holiday parties by themselves and 30% "have actually stayed home from events because they didn't have a date."

And who, you might ask, is sponsoring this completely heartbreaking study? Maybe the American Psychiatric Association? Or some non-profit society looking to curb holiday-related depression?

Come on, people. Act like you've read this feature before.

Behind the study is, of course, a company that has no problem both reporting on these statistics and simultaneously capitalizing on them ... Match.com.

In a press release timed specifically for the start of the Thanksgiving-Christmas-New Year's season, Match.com wants to emphasize that being single is depressing and if you're sad about being in a relationship, there's not something wrong with you ... or, well, there probably is, but nothing that can't be solved with the help of your personal computer.

"The holidays are full of fun and family celebrations, but they can also be very stressful, especially for single people," according to "relationship expert" and Match.com consultant Dawn Yanek.

You hear that, single people? Your lives are empty and meaningless! And stressful! If you don't go out and find a match RIGHT THIS VERY MINUTE, YOU MIGHT AS WELL PULL THE FORK OUT OF THAT TURKEY AND STAB YOURSELF RIGHT IN YOUR LONELY, LONELY HEART.

The good news, according to Match.com, is that the holidays are actually "one of the best times of the year to expand your romantic possibilities." Especially if you're willing to check out Match.com's new, very special holiday guide to dating.

There are a number of things that are creepy and wrong about Match.com's holiday dating guide, but maybe the creepiest is how it makes dating sound like a business plan:

"The special holiday edition of the Match.com dating guide helps individuals actively sort out their priorities, re-evaluate their approach to holiday dating and change their outlook so that every holiday gathering or item on their holiday 'to do' list becomes an opportunity to find the next great date."

So the message seems to be this: if you'll just treat dating like a job, become proactive and maybe change your paradigm and think outside the box, you're sure to snag yourself a completely practical and loveless relationship in time for that mistletoe-laden holiday party the week before Christmas. Use synergy, people! And maybe a spreadsheet or two.

Give'em some of your bling because if they don't last I might die

Since we’re trying to sell a product here—several issues of Barrelhouse #1 are still available—it’s probably not a good idea for us to send your money elsewhere. However, the only radio station I listen to is currently in the midst of their pledge drive and could use a few bucks.

KEXP is based in Seattle but streams theirs shows online in real time through their website. The station is listener supported which means no commercials. Plus, it’s one of the few places left on public airwaves that actually allows DJs to program their own shows rather than using focus groups and demographic studies to determine what gets played. That means instead of Puddle of Mudd and whatever other piece of shit band happens to be on the top twenty this week, KEXP plays stuff like My Morning Jacket, Ted Leo, and Interpol.

But even if that music’s not your cup of tea, they still deserve credit for being a beacon of independence in the otherwise shark infested waters of corporate radio. God, that was the worst mixed metaphor in the history of time, but you get my point. Give the station a try and if you like it, give’em a few bucks, too.

Famous People's Favorite Books

For its "College Week" series, Slate has an interesting
article where famous people and authors talk about the one book they read in college that had the most influence on them.

We all are not famous, but this seems like an interesting discussion. What was the book that had the most influence on you in college? (It need not be literature)

I would have to say that the book that had the most influence on me, period, I read before college, and indeed determined the college that I would attend. However, the most compelling book for me during college was Faulkner's novella "The Bear," which is the centerpiece of "Go Down, Moses", and in fact bleeds over to a few of the other stories, which are all linked thematically, of course. Through the story of Isaac McCaslin's post-bellum rejection of his inheritance, his family's plantation and estate, because of the legacy of slavery, I learned that there's no way to avoid the world around us, no matter how disgusting and unclean it seems, and that if we refuse what is properly ours, we diminish ourselves, rather than gain through misguided sacrifice. There is no Cartesian mind-body dualism, where we can inhabit an ethereal sphere of ideas and somehow avoid their consequences as they play out in the real world.

You Ain't a Beauty But Hey You're Allright

Columbia just reissued Born to Run, complete with a DVD of a 1975 London concert. Sometimes I forget how much I like Springsteen. It's like the way I like hamburgers or television -- it's always been there, always been good, and its not one of those things I wonder a lot about.

So its interesting to read this original review of Born to Run, by Greil Marcus, from the October 9, 1975 Rolling Stone. For those of us who discovered Springsteen the way we discovered a lot of rock, in reverse order, it's hard to believe that at one point he was a "new Dylan," a Jersey punk with a lot of hair and attitude and potential who nobody was quite sure was ever going to amount to much.

Born to Run pretty much changed all that. Here's what Marcus had to say in October 1975:

...while it was clear Springsteen was after bigger game, the records made me wonder if he knew what it was. Whether he did or not, with two "you gotta see him live" albums behind him, the question of whether Springsteen would ever make his mark on rock & roll -- or hang onto the chance to do so -- rested on that third LP, which was somehow "long awaited" before the ink was dry on the second. Very soon, he would have to come across, put up or shut up. It is the rock & roller's great shoot-out with himself: The kid with promise hits the dirt and the hero turns slowly, blows the smoke from his pistol, and goes on his way.

Springsteen's answer is Born to Run. It is a magnificent album that pays off on every bet ever placed on him--a '57 Chevy running on melted down Crystals records that shuts down every claim that has been made. And it should crack his future wide open.

Needless to say, we all know what happened next. Listening to that album now, especially now that I'm trying to be a less sucky writer, I'm struck by the storytelling. Its almost cliche to call Springsteen a great American storyteller, but its no less true now than when Marcus first listened to Born to Run:

It is the drama that counts; the stories Springsteen is telling are nothing new, though no one has ever told them better or made them matter more. Their familiar romance is half their power: The promise and the threat of the night; the lure of the road; the quest for a chance worth taking and the lust to pay its price; girls glimpsed once at 80 miles an hour and never forgotten; the city streets as the last, permanent American frontier.

If you need evidence, you ironically removed hipsters, I'd introduce the first few lines of Thunder Road:

the screen door slams
Mary's dress waves
like a vision she dances across the porch
as the radio plays
Roy Orbison singing for the lonely
hey that's me and I want you only
don't turn me home again I just can't face myself alone again

That's just good, solid, tight storytelling. A whole lot of shit going on in what is basically the first paragraph.

This isn't anything new, I know. And I guess it shouldn't be any surprise at this point that Springsteen songs have inspired at least two books: Meeting Across the River, in which various authors take a shot at creating a story based on the song, and Deliver me From Nowhere, Tennessee Jones' book of stories based on the Nebraska album.

I can't think of any way to end this post, and I could probably keep on going, and that would probably be embarrassing in the long run. So here's the last word from the man himself in all his overblown, messy, earnest, fantastic glory:

Outside the street's on fire in a real death waltz
Between flesh and what's fantasy
and the poets down here
Don't write nothing at all
they just stand back and let it all be
And in the quick of the night they reach for their moment
And try to make an honest stand
but they wind up wounded, not even dead
Tonight in Jungleland

Arrested Development Gets the Ax...And I Blame YOU, America

American people, you are killing me. What the fuck do you want, exactly?

First, you go all highbrow on me and neglect to embrace the brilliant alcoholic idiotic train that was Taradise.

Now you get all predictably attention-deficit, low-IQ-and-proud-of-it and completely ignore Arrested Development.

It is not looking good for one of the best shows on TV.

I blame you, America. It's not me. It's you. H.L. Mencken was right about you people.

Idiots.

I hope you're happy, America, you vast wasteland of people who are neither entertainingly stupid nor smart-enough. From California to the New York Island, from the redwood forest to the gulf stream waters, this land is made for the safely stupid, the purposefully comfortably numb, the fans of Yes Dear.

So keep watching According to Jim, America. Enjoy the hell out of The War at Home. Keep thinking Desperate Housewives is intelligent, cutting-edge drama. I hope you like CSI: Richmond. Slurp away at your "cold tasting" beer while you ride another fat man, skinny wife, precocious wisecracking child brain-dead sitcom into the syndication sunset. Say hi to Ryan Seacrest and Ashlee Simpson for me, America.

On second thought, say fuck you to both of those no talent ass-clowns.

You fucking idiots.

And that goes double for Fox.

Bastards.

Press Release of the Week: Precision-styled facial hair

Some of the funniest -- and most frightening -- press releases are those put out by market research companies. There are market researchers for just about everything: what people think about cars, or clothes, or children, or dogs. Basically the job of a market researcher is to observe people's day-to-day behavior and translate that into big bling for corporations looking to tap into the counrty's collective zeitgeist.

Apparently, the current zeitgest for American males is a little ... well, girly:

"As the well-groomed male has arrived as a permanent fixture in an image-obsessed culture, the shaving market has opened its doors to a multitude of products featuring traditionally female benefits, such as anti-aging and natural ingredients, according to Market Trends: Shaving and Hair Removal Products, a new report from market research publisher Packaged Facts, a division of MarketResearch.com."

According to the report, men -- once content to shave every few days, whenever their wives or girlfriends forced them into it, or perhaps grow bushy Tom Selleck-style mustaches -- now are into something called "precision-styled facial hair."

"What we've found is that men are open to exploring the benefits of male-formulated, female-type products," says Don Montuori, the publisher of the study. Of course "male formulated" is code for "differently colored packaging."

Such products as "skin-rejuvenating, ultra-comfort shavers and depilitories," Montuori tells us, once marketed mostly to women "have come out of the closet, so to speak."

Apparently the only holdout in America's wussification is the "ethnic market." But not to worry: America's razor companies are certainly working on products to appeal specifically to them. And I'm sure they'll all be completely tasteful and non-offensive, like Mattel's famous Oreo Barbie.

I actually have to take my hat off to the shaving industry, which has managed to convince nearly the entire male population that cutting the hair from one's face requires NASA-like technology. Not even twenty years ago, men either owned straight razors or bought Bic disposables, and everyone seemed happy enough with that arrangement. But see, that was just because we were ignorant, and we needed America's corporations to teach us about the things that were missing from our tiny, empty lives.

So they did, and we listened. And now I pay almost $15 for a packet of blades to fit onto my snazzy Mach Turbo IV Hi-Powered Assault Shaver with optional Skin Saving Hydro-Moisturizing Pellet Dispenser.

Unfortunately, this press release doesn't explain what I find to be the most perplexing new trend in the shaving market, which is razors with batteries. I don't mean electric shavers, but razors -- like the Mach Turbo -- that are completely hand-powered but apparently use a battery for some effect. Does it vibrate? Because that's the only thing that seems to make any sense, and yet that doesn't really make sense either. What good is a vibrating razor? It seems like you'd just be upping the odds of injury.

Maybe the razor companies have just succumbed to their own marketing success. First we needed twin blades, then three blades, then four or five blades. Then they added "moisture strips" or platinum-coated blades, or racing stripes. Eventually, I guess, you run out of ways to fancy up what's basically a pretty simple device. So some marketing guru probably swaggered into a meeting one day and said "Batteries." And then when the other suits in the boardroom asked what the batteries would do, he said "Does it matter?" And they all agreed he was right, and had a good laugh.

Accented English

Here's a book I'll almost certainly buy: The Atlas of North American English , which includes software that maps various dialects across the U.S. and even allows you to click on various geographical points and listen in on locally inflected speech.

I'm fascinated by accents. Maybe partially because I don't really have one to speak of. But also because I've lived in a bunch of interesting accent pockets. I spent most of my childhood (until I was 15) in Charleston, S.C., home to one of the most distinctive accents around. A place where the native speech has been cooked in a unique mixture of Elizabethan English and West African dialects, resulting in a sort of linguistic gumbo that's immediately recognizable to anyone who's spent a fair amount of time in the South Carolina lowcountry. It's a place where you pronounce Legare Street "luh-GREE" and Huger Street "YOU-gee." Weird, wild stuff.

Then we moved to Pensacola, Florida, where the accents are a little more like what people associate with the Old South, the kind of sing-songy Alabamaese where vowels get shaped into something like musical notes. But we were also close enough to New Orleans that some people had a bit of the French-inspired Creole mixed in there, too.

Now I'm living in the Midwest, where my students all claim they don't have accents -- and even get offended if you suggest that they do. To me, they sound like a weird mixture of my friends from Buffalo, NY and the characters in Fargo.

The sad part of all of this is that accents seem to be slowly disappearing. TV and the world getting smaller and all of that jive, I'm sure. When I was a kid in Charleston, older adults who'd grown up in the city had incredibly rich accents, but their kids' accents were less noticeable. I suspect this is a trend, and that some day we'll all be speaking the bland English of the seven o'clock news.

John Grisham, you're banned! But not really.

All of us free-speech-lovin' Barrelhousers can breathe easier today: the Fargo, N.D. school board has decided not to ban John Grisham's A Time to Kill, despite petitions from a group of parents.

Of course this raises a few questions, like when did high schools start assigning John Grisham books, and what was so offensive about this one in particular (the parents claimed "violence," but I'm guessing maybe they just read the title and started having epileptic-like fits).

The parents, learning that their plea was denied, sound predictably pissy. "The hubris of this board is unbelievable," Pamela Sund Herschlip told the Associated Press. Which makes me wonder if Herschlip knows what the word "hubris" means. Perhaps if she'd read a few more ultra-bloody books -- both The Illiad and The Odyssey come to mind -- she'd be better able to use the word in a sentence.

I remember when I was in high school and a small but crazy group of parents wanted to ban "Young Goodman Brown," because it was about "people hanging around with the devil." Nothing came of it, of course, except that my family got a good laugh. One of the ring leaders -- an extremely religious woman who wouldn't let her daughter date or even leave the house much past dark (and yes, the daughter was pregnant before graduation, because that's how these things work) -- called my mom to enlist her help in getting "Young Goodman Brown" off our American Lit. syllabus. I remember my mom getting off the phone and looking perplexed. "Some crazy woman just called," she said. "I'm pretty sure she hasn't actually read 'Young Goodman Brown.' I mean, it's been years, but isn't that some kind of relgious allegory?"

I actually wish people would try to ban more books, because it's the best way to get kids interested in reading. "Young Goodman Brown" sort of sucks eggs, if you're a high school junior, but when someone wants to keep you from reading it, all of a sudden it's like the coolest story ever told. And all it took to get me to read American Psycho as a high school sophomore was my English teacher working herself into a frenzy about how violent and offensive it was. Right now, I bet copies of A Time to Kill are flying off the shelves, and even kids who don't have to read it for school are turning its pages.

Why is Usher Famous?

Seriously. Can anybody tell me the answer to that question?

I know who he is. Or at least what he looks like. I know he's wildly famous -- famous enough to be on my television every 12 minutes pimping his new DVD collection, which seems to be an extended dance video that could easily be mistaken for Britney or Janet Jackson or any other lipsyncin' and dancin' act.

I know he's an R&B singer with a big nose and really well defined abs. And he frequently wears a jaunty cap and no shirt -- all the better to deemphasize that honker and emphasize those abs.

I know that somebody, somewhere, sitting in the corner office of some giganto multimedia conglomerate has deigned that Usher Will Be Famous.

I just don't know why.

I can't remember ever hearing a single Usher tune. I remember changing the channel on the videos, or thinking "well, that guy can dance pretty well...and, hey, nice hat." I just can't remember any of the music.

Can you hum a snippet of an Usher tune? I dare you -- hum it right now.

Yeah...I can't either.

Is he that good looking? I mean, I know he's okay, and I'm all for anybody making all they can out of what they got. But come on -- I'm pretty sure there's hundreds of better looking guys out there delivering packages right now.

So what's the deal? Who anointed this guy? How does this shit happen? What the hell is going on here?

Covering Teen Wolf

McSweeneys is always funny, but this is particularly great (and came to my attention via the always entertaining Backwards City blog): Pasha Malla's Covering Teen Wolf: One Coach's Guide.

Teen Wolf gets scrappy once you put the pressure on, and he's a great ball handler with a low-to-the-ground style reminiscent of Pistol Pete or a young Isiah Thomas. Add to his skill and quickness those gigantic, hirsute paws, and you're up against one hell of a dribbler. We've tried giving Teen Wolf a step, respecting his speed, but we've found that if our guys slack off him, he'll generally hit the open jumper—or else take off from wherever he's standing on the court, sail over everyone's heads, and finish with one of those dunks where he ends up sitting on the top of the backboard, howling, feet dangling down through the hoop.

There's more, and its all brilliant. Check it out.

Taradise...yeah, that's right...wait for it...Lost

We've known it was coming for along time, but it doesn't ease the pain any less. The great experiment in alcoholic, silicone-enhanced television trainwreckery that was Taradise is over.

I know this happened a few weeks ago, but I just caught up with my girl Tara over the weekend, and the finale really reminded me of what a goddam shame it is that E! is pulling the plug on Taradise.

The finale was a fitting end. Tara and her idiot sister, also sporting giant fake boobs and the IQ of a microwave burrito, hit the Tomatina tomato battle in Valencia, Spain. In between getting shitfaced, the Reid Geniuses and their henchwomen decide that, since its the world largest tomato battle, everybody will probably be in "teams," and the teams will all have "cute outfits."

You'll be surprised to learn that this turns out to be really, really not true.

The girls cute outfits consist of tiny little shirts that almost barely just just just cover their surgically enhanced boobs, along with some pro wrestling style boots, baseball hats, and daisy duke sweatpants.

The Genuis squad is surprised to learn that not everybody is dressed in "cute outfits" and that, in contrast, everybody is actually male, horny, wasted, and aggressive. Shocker.

Anyway, all of this is making me nostalgic already. Suffice it to say that they drink, throw tomatoes, have tomatoes thrown (primarily at their boobs) and say stupid shit that makes no sense at all.

And then they go get wasted.

Gridskipper has an excellent wrap up of all the classic Taradise episodes.

Sad to see you go, Tara. We'll see you in rehab. Or maybe in Wildwood, New Jersey, stumbling around on the dancefloor of Razzles.

Wherever we shall meet again, may you be drunk, growing larger, with even bigger boobs, and spouting out nonsense. I only hope there will be a camera crew there to catch it all.

Fill In Your Own "Why Wasn't This on NFL Sunday Ticket Instead of the Saints-Bears Game?" Joke Here

This story is perhaps the most accurate social barometer I have seen in quite a while.

I particularly like the fact that punches were thrown, which means that not only does this story have gratuitous lesbian sex, but a catfight as well.

Press Release of the Week: NBA style

Barrelhouse readers who don't follow sports may not realize that the NBA is currently embroiled in controversy over a new dress code for courtside players. Basically, the gist is this: the NBA decided that perhaps the best way to fix its "image problem" is to require players to wear suits. Because American fans apparently hate seeing athletes dressed in throw-back jerseys or track suits, and they certainly hate bling.

Now, this policy, as you might guess, has touched off charges of racism. The NBA, some say, thinks it will be easier to sell its product by dressing it up in the conservative packaging of white corporate America.

I don't necessarily want to get into this complicated debate here, except to say that Dockers isn't helping:

Dockers(R), the nation's leading brand of men's casual clothing, today issued a "mandate" to all professional basketball fans to support their favorite players by adhering to a "fan code of style" similar to that established by NBA Commissioner David Stern.

"Dockers is encouraging fans to show their team spirit by getting behind the new player dress code and support professional basketball players by stepping up their own style at games," said Bill Stewart, vice president of Dockers Brand Marketing. "If players can step up their style, fans can too."

I don't need to tell you fine people that Dockers is perhaps the whitest clothing manfacturer in all the land. To use an SAT-style analogy: Fubu is to Dockers as 50 Cent is to Barry Manilow.

Apparently the company did some sort of "survey" and found that fans like to wear such clothing as "blazers, khakis and dress shirts" to games. One might suspect, of course, that Dockers' survey results might have been different if they'd stepped out of the corporate luxury box -- I mean, blazers? I like blazers as much as the next cracker, but who wears a blazer to a sporting event (at least to a sporting event that doesn't involve horses and mallets)?

But Dockers bravely soldiers on in the face of controversy, giving the following "dress tips" to whitebread bball fans:

--Avoid the Full Court Press -- Dockers(R) No Wrinkles technology keeps pants looking like they just came straight from the dryer all game long!

--Don't Worry about Flying Food! -- Dockers(R) Stain Defender(R) technology repels spills and defends against stains.

--Hot Dogs and Beer for Every Fan! -- Dockers(R) Individual Fit(R) Waistband gives up to an extra inch of room in the waist to fit that extra hot dog and beer!

--Keep Cool -- Cool Effects technology helps keep fans cool even when the game heats up. Moisture is wicked away from the fabric so fans feel dry and comfortable in any nail-biting situation.

--From Work to Tip-Off -- All Motion Comfort(TM) Fabric allows for a full range of motion and comfort all day at the office and well into the fourth quarter.

So there you have it: if we could all just wear Dockers brand business casual clothing, we could all get along.

Secondly: I've been wracking my pea-sized brain trying to figure out a way this second press release could be tied into the first. But, frankly, I've got nothing. Except I think it's funny. So I'm posting it here, in its entirely, without comment, except to suggest that it's best read in a Barry White-style voice:

"How can you not be passionate about chocolate? It is simply exquisite. The moment you taste ChocLamours, you will know only pure ingredients have been used for your pleasure. Eating ChocLamours is a joyful experience. Open the beautiful miniature box, discover "one of a kind" heartspoon chocolates, read the special message "spooning love to you," taste the richness of the chocolate, close your eyes and think l'amour - facial expression: a Monet masterpiece.

"ChocLamours takes great pride in offering its romantic gift collection called "SpoonMantics," which creates the special feeling of two people entwined as one. The sculptured pendants and porcelain candleholder are works of art.

"ChocLamours offers outstanding customer service and shipping to any location in the United States.

"Webster's Dictionary defines "romance" as a love story. ChocLamours defines "romance" as SpoonMantics.

Thighmaster For Your Goat

Now this sounds like a pretty sweet deal.

Damn, and I just traded my goat to this guy, for his one-eared man spectacles.

I love the best of Craigslist.

The Evel Knievel of Quarters

This guy would have been king of my dorm.

Your Commercials Are Meaningless, Unless They Actually Come to Life

Saturday, around 6PM, my buddy Richard and I are sitting in section 15 of the horrendously named Bobby Bowden Field at Doak Campbell Stadium, surrounded by visiting Maryland Terrapin fans who are giddy that the score isn't 56-3. They keep yelling "Fear the Turtle" and mocking the marching band, which keeps trying to inspire the Tomahawk Chop out of a listless FSU homecoming crowd.

When, all of the sudden, during a television time out, the Burger King guy (ok, I'm willing to allow that it just might have been an FSU student dressed as the Burger King guy) leaps from the stands and steals a football from the sidelines, and proceeds to go 90 yards downfield; at the goal line, near the student section, he strikes a mean Desmond Howard-esque Heisman pose, then notices the cops barreling towards him, and reverses field. He hops into the stands, just as a tremendously fat state trooper (if you ever see FSU games on TV this guy is always the one walking about 2 steps behind Coach Bowden) grabs for his ankles. If it weren't for the cop's 4-inch vertical leap (it's hard to get 320 pounds airborne) the kid would have been caught. Instead, he escaped into the student section, where he was immediately surrounded by a bunch of students. The costume came flying out towards the sidelines, and the cops stood around with that "what do we do now" look on their faces.

Brilliant.

A small selection of television commercials that confound me

KFC
In the company's most recent offering, a woman is eating what looks like a 2-piece dinner at the breakroom table when one of her male coworkers walks in. They make some small talk, then she tells him that she bought her lunch for only four dollars.

"Four dollars?" the guy replies, incredulous. "That's way less than what I paid for my lunch at a casual dining restaurant."

Now, first of all, I'm not even sure what qualifies as a "casual dining restaurant." TGIFriday's? Sbarro? Uncle Moe's Family Feedbag?

Even if I did know what a "casual dining restaurant" entailed, I can't imagine that's a term I'd toss around in my daily conversation. Nor would any other human. Unless, of course, that human were following a script carefully edited so as not to result in a lawsuit stemming from a commercial's mention of one of its specific competitors. Still, people are being paid good money to write these scripts. Can't they figure out some more believable dialogue?

The Burger King "King"
Am I the only person who finds this guy completely creepy? If I opened my blinds one morning and someone were standing two inches from the glass in that psychotic mask, I'd call the cops (after I pissed myself). And yet the guy in the commercial seems so happy to see him! Maybe he's just excited about the "egg-normous, meat-normous" monstrosity he's offering.

This sandwich marks a key moment in the development of breakfast sandwiches (and in America's continuing slide toward near-universal angina). It's key because the industry has clearly realized there's only so much meat and egg a person can fit on the traditional breakfast breads -- croissants, bagels, English muffins. And so, finally, they've just said fuck it and put the sandwich on a big-ass lunch roll. Genius!

Ads both for and against local ballot initiatives
Right now, Iowa City is mired in two completely bewildering controversies. The first is whether we should allow the city to form a cooperative electric utility to replace MidAmerican Energy. The second is whether we should form a local telecom co-op which, I assume, would replace Qwest.

The truth is, the only reason I know enough about that first issue to write a complete sentence about it is because in my former life, before coming to Iowa, I edited a publication about the energy industry and actually wrote a news article about Iowa City's dillema.

If, like most Iowa Citians, I were making my decision based only on both sides' television commercials, I would know roughly squat. Here's what I know about the telecom controversy:

--According to some group with a vague name like "Citizens for Super-Fair Telephonery," starting a telecom co-op in Iowa City would be "really, really expensive."

--According to another group with a similar name -- let's call them "Citizens for Even-Fairer Telephonery" -- NOT starting a telecom co-op would be "really, really expensive."

Who to believe? Who knows? Neither side presents even one single fact. Not one single argument. Why bother then? At least when people are running for political office, we get facts -- well, usually distorted or made-up "facts," but you've got to at least appreciate the show of effort. Couldn't these guys write "really, really expensive" across the screen while playing "God Bless America?" Could we at least get an American flag, or a bald eagle? Without those sorts of symbols, I don't know who's good and who's evil.

Ads that take place in offices and are about things like servers, telephone service, FedEx, etc.

A friend pointed out the other day this growing genre of TV commercials. I guess I don't have any problem with these companies advertising, but the cumulative effect of all these ads is to remind me how much I hate working in an office, and how much I hope I'll never have to do it again. And how stupid I am when it comes to most technology-related things.

Plus, I always assumed the people responsible for these types of executive-level purchasing decisions were busy, busy people who stayed at the office until well past dinnertime, then maybe went out for martinis and beluga caviar with their industrialist buddies. But that image has now been shattered, since I guess they sit around in their pajamas and watch TV just like the rest of us. Here I thought one of the benefits of not being a wealthy industrialist was that I could catch Veronica Mars each week. But apparently I could do that while pulling down the big bucks.

Ads for Bennigans & Applebey's
I usually don't notice Bennigans ads until a few weeks before St. Patrick's Day, when Bennigans remembers that at some point in time they were a restaurant that tried to pass itself off as sort of Irish. "Come spend your St. Patty's Day with your good Irish buddies down at Bennigans!" these ads implore. Let me tell you right now: if you ever spend a St. Patrick's Day in a Bennigans, you are a fucking wanker. You might as well wear one of those big green foam hats, drop food coloring in your 24 oz. Bud Lite and then punch yourself in the scrotum and/or uterus.

Appleby's has only recently made this list, with all this "we're your neighborhood place" nonsense. I'm irritated enough at how every place in America is turning into a homogenous suburb, I don't need this sort of constant reminder. If your "neighborhood place" is a fucking Appleby's, then, dude, you live in pretty much the worst neighborhood ever.

Okay, I could probably keep going all day, but I'll stop before my blood pressure rises anymore. Fellow Barrelhousers, feel free to add your own least favorite commercials.

The DeLuise Update

A few months back I wrote a post about how much fun it can be to sign your friends up for random email newsletters. And its a gift that keeps on giving. Witness today's fascinating update from Dom DeLuise, forwarded by my friend Dave, who reports that DeLuise sends weekly email updates, all of them about absolutely nothing.

With apologies to Gwydion, who frequently writes about soup on his blog, this one is a really long email about soup.

I've often said that if I had a gajillion dollars, I'd sit around the house all day in my underwear and make soup. Apparently DeLuise is doing just that.

Hi Everyone,

I hope you had a safe and fun Halloween. Our California weather is cool, but still warm enough for hours of trick or treating, so the kids in our neighborhood came out in droves. It's always fun to see to see them all -- even if we don't recognize most of them anymore. When my sons were small we had a good chance at guessing who was at the door, but now most of those kids are parents like my own sons. Time does fly.

This month my lovely wife, Carol, and I will be celebrating our 40th anniversary. We've survived California earthquakes, three children and Hollywood, so the odds are it's going to work!

One of our favorite things to eat in this house is soup…whether it's for lunch or before dinner…soup is always so satisfying. One sure way to get Carol to the table quickly is to let her know there is soup involved. This month I'm sending you all one of my favorite soup recipes. It should help take the chill out of fall. Everyone loves Mushroom Soup, and I'm sure you'll love this very traditional recipe.
Adding the Sherry, gives it just the right flavor, so make sure you have some on hand…this recipe isn't the same without it.

Dom's Cream of Mushroom Soup


4 tablespoons olive oil

4 celery stalks, sliced
4 shallots, chopped
1 onion, chopped
4 garlic cloves, chopped
1 carrot, chopped
10 cups of sliced mushrooms, (3 cups each; shitake, crimini and
oyster)
1 cup dry white wine
1 cup dry Sherry
3 tablespoons butter
1/2 cup flour
5 cups chicken broth
1/2 cup half and half
salt & pepper to taste
chopped parsley

In a large pot over medium heat the olive oil. Add celery, shallots, onion, carrot and garlic and sauté until onion is translucent. Add the mushrooms and sauté until they begin to soften, about 5 minutes. Add wine and Sherry. Boil until liquid is reduced to a glaze, about 5 minutes.

Add 2 tablespoons of butter, 1/2 cup water and 1/2 cup flour in a bowl and whisk until a paste forms. Add flour mixture to mushroom mixture in the pot and stir until mixture melts. Gradually mix in the chicken broth. Bring to a boil, stirring frequently. Reduce heat to medium-low and simmer, stirring often. Stir in half and half and salt and pepper to taste.

With a wand blender, puree soup until smooth. Ladle into soup bowls, sprinkle with parsley and serve.

Serves 8 to 10

If you like this soup a little creamier…you can increase the half and half, or you can actually use cream. I use the half and half to keep the calories and fat down, but it works beautifully with good old-fashioned cream if you are young and not even thinking about your arteries yet! Either way, I hope you enjoy it as much as we do.

This soup is also a very nice way to start off your Thanksgiving dinner.

Make it early in the month; so you've had a rehearsal with the recipe, and then by the time Thanksgiving rolls around, you make it in a jiffy. While the turkey is "setting" you can all start Thanksgiving dinner with a lovely bowl of hot soup.

Because it's Thanksgiving, I'm going to be posting a special recipe as the Recipe of the Month on my website…so be sure to visit www.domdeluise.com and get that recipe too, especially if you like pumpkin and pecans. In addition to all the recipes for past months that are posted on my website, you can also visit www.onthehouse.com and get all the recipes I do on the radio on "On the House with the Carey Brothers" Saturday mornings. The show has a call in session, and I'd love to chat with you, so tune in and give me a call sometime.

Not just on Thanksgiving, but every day, remember how much we have to be thankful for. God bless you all, and have a very Happy Thanksgiving!

Ciao,

Dom